Chapter 1
The moon hid her silvery visage from the scene below. Treestrembling in fear and their dark shadows did little to conceal the dartingshape of a person. Terror etched on their face, the colour dripping away likethat of the sweat pouring down. Fingers scratched by branches and brambles asthey passed. Breath inhaled like a shot, legs spentof energy. They tripped, weight and backpack taking them down. The groundkissed them hard, clots of dirt thrown upwards. Running steps that were cut off by a rising wave of dust. Behind thetanned curtain, red eyes loomed from a great height.
“Red Hood,” a voice called out, the words strangelymisaligned on their mouth and a deep almost beastly growl vibrated through theair. “Little red hood, where do you hide when you have yet to seen my teeth?”
Stars winked out as their eyes closed, lips silentlypleading to remain hidden.
“There you are.”
A scream rose up, cut off sharply.
“Author unknown,” Jasper Spector said, closing overthe book page as the pilot announced their descent into Dublin, Ireland. Darkeyes met the dust gathered pane, his first look at the country. He saw itsbeauty and what drew countless visitors, apple green fields lush as theirnamesake before a gate led into a forest shaded space. The wildness would holdsomeone in thrall while none saw the beast creeping up behind them. Green doesafter all hid plenty of red. His fingers curled around the smooth metal band onhis index. Cold to the touch as it should be to a Guild hunter. Warm, noweapons on a plane and trapped, worst combination. Fortunately, the descent wassmooth and departing was easy once most had left, scurrying to buses and carsonce passport control welcomed you home or wished you onwards.
“A country that hide its secrets as much Dublin bearsher scars openly,” he commented as a man dressed no different from the averagebusinessman shuffled closer to him. Brown jacket clashing with his own midnightblue one, both wearing white shirts that had seen better days, wrinkled heavily.The cold slide of keys into Jasper’s palm, he moved to secure them as if he wassimply stretching his hands.
“First floor, E12,” the man’s curt response before hemelted back into the crowd gathered in the arrival hall. Jasper gave a briefnod and headed to the multi-storey car park. Stepping onto the first floor andquickly locating the car in question, he let out a whistle at the shiny blackchrome greeting him. In the iridescent sheen, his reflection taunted him; anarrow jawline tucked under a sharp chin the shape matched in the upturn of hisnose, not helped at all by the broken bridge that didn’t allow for ease ofview, his eyes. Freckles pivoted in their path across his sun kissed skin. Theharsh slant of his arms as one reached up to run his fingers along the vehicle.
“Thank you, Francesca,” he rumbled, operating theboot. A large silver case sat there and as it recognised his fingerprint, thecase sprang open.
“Wolfsbane.” He held up the wilting leaves and at adeep inhale, wrinkled his nostrils. “Still as potent as ever.”
“Magnus Lupine.” Jasper holstered the pistol before apassing family saw. Rule one of Guild, do not involve local law enforcement.Suitably attired, he hopped into the car and started the engine. As soon as thebarrier rose, he pressed the phone button.
“Bonjour,” a female voice purred, the curl of her ‘r’ madehis lips twitched upwards.
“Francesca.”
“Nice to have your feet back on solid ground again,huh?”
“I would not quite say that.”
“You know what I mean.” Though he could not see her,he knew at this moment she was gesturing with a dismissive wave. The knowing ofit made his mouth curved into a smile.
“So, care to explain why I had to leave the pretty villain a sun-drenched country for one that see little sunlight outside of June.”
Silence followed his words and as the car wove pastthe turnoff, his expression grew serious.
“Francesca?”
“Right. A number oftourists have gone missing, most locals thought they simply chose the wrongpath and ended up in different towns. That was until a leg showed up west ofwhere the tourists were last seen and it certainly was not detached by theperson themselves.”
An image flashed up on the car’s console and hegrimaced.
“A matter for the Irish Guild then?”
“Ireland possesses neutrality in international mattersand as a result…”
“No Guild,” he responded. “Where were the missing lastseen?”
“A wooded area on the border of Northern Ireland.”
A brow arched. “Then it is a matter for the hunters upnorth.”
“Here is the thing, the land technically does notbelong to Northern Ireland nor the Irish government. According to history, theland is under the rule of three houses, granted by the High Kings themselvesand cemented in recent history by two accords, one in 1840 and the second in1920.”
Images flashed up. A tree, branches neatly folded intothe shape of a shield and lightening flashed behind it. House Blackwood. Metal curvedby heat into the crude outline of a wolf head. House MacBrennan. A fish with astrangely long tail, its flail resembling a hook. House SeaGlass.
“Has anyone contacted the families?” Jasper asked,foot increasing speed to overtake a truck heading west on an exit.
“That’s the other problem; there are no records beyond1916 and the 1920 accord seemed to have reinforced the families’ claim withoutactually speaking to them,” Francesca said on a gulp.
“Shit.”
“Incoming call,” the car’s computer chimed and ifFrancesca had spoken, she was hushed in favour of Agent Caul. Jasper’s top lipcurled back at the white outline of the agent’s profile. The source of his current predicament, hisleft hand gripped the gear tight for despite the fingerless gloves, they werenot why he felt a nakedness to himself. Then he gave hinself a mental shake, thoughtslike this were not going to help.
“Damn Spector, took yer time.”
“Caul.” Ice could have frozen his tongue.
“Right well, I have sent co-ordinates to a rendezvous point.”
“Vast lands beyond,” Jasper said, glancing at thevillage listed as Brua Mer and beyond it, a sea of green.
Caul made a sound of agreement.
“Brua Mer has a sister village further down the road,it is interesting.” Something in his voice told Jasper it was not the good kindof ‘interesting’.
“The second agent will await you there,” Caulcontinued, a briskness to his tone.
“Just who is this second agent?”
Silence answered him and he saw the disconnect symbol.
“Bastard.”
The exit was smooth, what acted as the road next wasnot. A broken fence was the only indication Spector got before his car slippeda beat as it hopped over a pothole or was it a river, hard to tell as thevehicle dove down a ledge. He grunted at his head hitting the roof, his nerveswould too if he did not get back on solid ground. His call to Francesca madehis hair flash with silver from the static. A curse saw his bottom teeth sinkinto his tongue. He glanced to his right and slammed on the brakes.
“What the hell.”
An old guardhouse, the wood holding up the structurewith its last bit of strength and splinter. There had been no saving the strawroof, withered and rotten by time’s brute hand nothing remained of it. That wasnot what caught his eye, what did lay below the once polished window, now arusted iron cage. Four jagged marks carved the wood deeper than a blade could. Jaspergrabbed his phone and snapped a photo. At that moment, Francesca’s voice strokedhis ear.
“There you are.”
“Dead zone.”
“Ah, suppose you are glad to hear me after thesilence.”
“Depends on if your voice draws anything close.”
“Explain.”
“Claw marks on this old guardhouse, something gothungry,” Jasper replied.
A loud whirling sound drew up the tree canopy,revealing what ever sought to hide, birds rushing for new hiding places. Jaspercraned his neck, a helicopter transporting a large metal crate dangling inmidair.
“How far to Brua Mer?”
“A mile or so, why?”
“A bad feeling.”
The village had become trapped whether it was history or distance, time refused to touch it. Broken shingles clung to one another, others perilously close to falling. Wood heaved under the weight of stone walkways linking several small houses. A foul smell permeated the air, dark puddles filled with the quivering masses of flies. A human touch had long fled the dust painted furniture, yet they never made it far, decaying flesh straddled the doorway and freedom. Weather battered signs pointed in the directions of no longer standing businesses and rain spoilt letters- the first word omitted , the second said ‘end’. Agent Caul stood by a small clearing, his square jaw more pronounced by his grimace, the helicopter depositing the container. Red speckled his navy blue suit and his left arm was at a strange angle. Embers shook their vermillion fists angrily at him.
A pound of offal served up on a plate, a corrugated panelling greeted Jasper, his foot narrowly missing it, his grimace did not. Caul would not look at him, his gaze affixed to the container. He raised one hand and made a clicking sound between thumb and index. Two men leapt from an unknown hiding spot, dark scaled armour covered them. Faces obscured by large, jagged and warped metal plating. An alarm bell pulsed against Jasper’s forehead, the Guild’s Vessels were here and he hear the unmistakable sound of safety off. Despite the bulk, they moved with liquid grace to surround his car.
“Caul, what is going on here?”
The man turned, his expression solemn as he twisted his hands behind his back.
“I had no choice but her.”
Ice froze Jasper’s blood and pace in that moment. The question on his lips but he could not get the sound pass his tongue.
“Zinnia.”
Jasper’s body may not move, his gaze on the other hand snapped instantly to the container.
“Have you lost your mind.” Fury rose with each word. “When hers is already gone!”
“Jasper…” Caul’s voice trailed off as one solider twisted the locking mechanism, the bolts sighing in warning. The crank threw itself to the left and the doors burst open. The men at the doors were thrown across the grass, the reason for their flight soon revealed.. Pale limbs dusted with a black fuzz appeared first as if those of a human albeit hairy. However, where wrist was supposed to meet flat palms, the skin was cleaved sharply at an angle and protruding from them, the gnarly roots of claws. A mass built up the large cowl and thick, bedraggled wefts made it seem that but more fuzzy.
